


Candle Light

by EnnynDurin



Category: Assassin's Creed, Real Person Fiction
Genre: I like History, M/M, Mostly real-life fic, and I most certainly like these two together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnnynDurin/pseuds/EnnynDurin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Salai posed naked for Leonardo that day, as he often would when the master painter requested so. His ivory skin gleamed under the candle light, soft yellows, oranges and reds colouring his skin with a whimsical allure."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candle Light

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta readers so excuse me for any mistakes, as such, I should also point out that English is not my first language and any grammar or vocabulary murders are not my intention.  
> With that said, enjoy?

Salai posed naked for Leonardo that day, as he often would when the master painter requested so. His ivory skin gleamed under the candle light, soft yellows, oranges and reds colouring it with a whimsical allure. Salai’s hair, chin length and curly, reminded Leonardo of his own when he was younger; except, Da Vinci’s hair had been a faint brown, reaching down to his chest in loose curls and framing his face in a graceful fashion, which so many described with words of utter awe. Salai’s hair though, was far more interesting. It was darker, shorter, and the curls tighter, giving him a grace he lacked in everything else. The boy was challenging, naughty and, as Leonardo himself so often said, “unclean”, though he managed to be as equally beautiful and loving.  
It took a while for Leonardo to register what he saw before him, wishing nothing else than to immortalize the boy’s beauty until only his virtuousness could be remembered, and not their pesky fights or irrational discussions.  
Da Vinci would often offer truce whenever they fought, and indulge in the youth’s wishes when he asked so. It was their rhythm, the way the found love and tolerance in each other, because, no matter how hard the artist tried, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the one constant in his life, the one love he could never let go of.  
When day gave way to nightfall Leonardo looked at the paper before him and once again found himself confronted with imperfection. Salai could not be replicated, merely enjoyed.  
The parchment, filled with sanguine coloured lines expertly drawn by the hands of a genius, was forgotten atop the work table.  
Da Vinci’s hands, cold and trembling, touched the canvas he loved despite doing him no good. He needn’t looked for perfection anywhere else, as its eyes stared into his own, mouths caressed each other, and words laid forgotten.


End file.
